


Silver and shadow and vision of things not seen

by elareine



Series: JayTim Week 2019 [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: 1940s, Action, Alternate Universe - Historical, Curses, Found Family, M/M, Mer Jason Todd, Merpeople, Other, Psychological Trauma, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Urban Fantasy, Vampires, Witches, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2020-10-24 15:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20708381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elareine/pseuds/elareine
Summary: There were a few drawings, but mostly, the pages were filled with descriptions of two fights the agency had seen the creatures involved in. ‘Can be under water indefinitely,’ it read. (Wasn’t that sort of a given?) ‘Hand-to-hand combat, using claws and teeth. Prefer to kill the enemy by drowning, but will tear out their throats.’“They sound lovely.” Steph’s voice was dry. “Can’t wait to meet them.”“Slower on land, but stronger than any human,” Tim read. “I think that’s supposed to tell us to run if anything goes wrong.”“I think I preferred the resistance to this.”





	1. London, 1944

**Author's Note:**

> For JayTim Month, Week 7: Urban Fantasy. It will hit a few bingo squares eventually, but honestly that’s more of a coincidence. 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter (spoilers): This chapter is set during WW2. I’ve done my best to keep it to Britain, but the background of German crimes against humanity is there and hinted at on several occasions. Also non-explicit bombardment and drowning (no named characters).

“I smell a rat.” 

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t get to shower this morning.” 

Steph glared at him. “Very funny.” 

“I am.” 

“…and you smell of at least two rats.” 

Tim just about managed to dig an elbow into her ribs before the door to the meeting room opened and they were called in. He loved her, he did. She was the best partner he’d ever had. It was just that he’d occasionally really, really like to strangle her. 

A serious-looking intelligence officer greeted them inside, introducing himself as “Mr. Grey, since Brown was already taken, haha.” 

Tim gave a polite smile, trying not to look at whichever face Steph was likely to be pulling. After they had sat down, Mr. Grey considered them through sharp brown eyes. “We at DMLOO have been aware of your excellent information gathering for some time now. You have quite a reputation as agitators.” 

Then why had they been recalled from their last assignment? Yes, the situation had turned dangerous and they had needed extraction, but they had both fully expected to be sent back behind the frontlines again as soon as they had been debriefed. Instead, here they were, in a section of their agency that was so secret, they didn’t even know what the acronym stood for, except that it sounded like an Englishman commenting on a rather stupid toilet.

Tim knew better than to say any of that, though. 

Mr. Grey continued: “Tell me: Are you confident that you can work with anyone that shares our enemies? Persuade them to align their actions to our purpose?”

That may be stretching it, Tim thought, but Steph nodded. “Yes. We are.” 

“Good, good. I like a bit of self-confidence in a lady. I want you to meet two of our most valuable contacts,” Mr. Grey told them. “They are the representatives of a considerable force that is willing to assist our Navy on an upcoming operation.” 

They waited. When he didn’t volunteer any more information, Steph asked: “What force would that be?” 

“A good question, Miss Brown. After all, most of the world is divided by now.” There was something patronizing in that smile. Tim made a mental note that he would need to hold Steph back from putting something unpleasant and possibly diarrhetic in their new boss’s drink, later. 

“There are, however, still mysteries to this world, and it just so happened that one of these contacted us. Now, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that everything you learn in this room is to be treated with utmost secrecy?” 

“No, Sir.” “We are aware.” 

Mr. Grey studied them for a long minute. Then, satisfied with whatever it was he saw, he pressed a button. They waited in silence as a smartly dressed woman, presumably his secretary, brought in two folders and vanished again without a word.

Mr. Grey said: “Read this. Everything will be clear. I have another meeting to attend—can’t be postponed, I’m afraid—but I will be back.” 

Exit Mr. Grey, leaving them to stare at the documents in front of them.

One of the folders was thick, important-looking, and Mr. Grey’s secretary had put that one in front of Tim. Just looking at the smaller one in front of Steph, however, Tim knew that whatever was inside would change his world. He could practically see it—pages and pages filled with information about creatures from out of this world. 

He shook his head, impatient. This wasn’t the time for his flights of fancy. 

Steph opened it first, Tim getting up and peering over her shoulder. (He had to stand slightly on his tip-toes to do this, but whatever. They were alone.) 

“Well, bugger me. Mermaids.” 

Tim stared at the page. “Couldn’t phrase it better,” he admitted. 

“Are they messing with us?” 

But Tim shook his head. “Why would they? They recalled us for this, remember.”

Steph grimaced. “I think I preferred the resistance to this.” 

They examined the contents more closely. There were a few drawings, but mostly, the pages were filled with descriptions of two fights the agency had seen the creatures involved in. ‘Can be under water indefinitely,’ it read. (Wasn’t that sort of a given?) ‘Hand-to-hand combat, using claws and teeth. Prefer to kill the enemy by drowning, but will tear out their throats.’ 

“They sound lovely.” Steph’s voice was dry. “Can’t wait to meet them.” 

“Slower on land, but stronger than any human,” Tim read. “I think that’s supposed to tell us to run if anything goes wrong.” 

“Which, considering the next paragraph is ‘distrust humans,’ seems increasingly likely.” 

“They could love humans and you’d still manage to piss them off within five minutes.” 

Steph sniffed haughtily. “It’s a special talent.” 

They kept reading. 

“There is nothing in here about how to address them,” Tim pointed out, “how they communicate, how their society is structured…” 

“Which begs the question,” Steph took up his line of thinking, “did they not want to tell Command?” 

“Or did Command not ask?” 

They sighed in unison. Trying to establish friendly relations with a group that had been unwittingly or deliberately insulted by their honorable leaders was not an easy task, as they both knew to their peril. 

“What’s the second folder?” Steph asked. 

Tim returned to his own seat and opened it. “Steph?” 

“Yes?” Her voice was impatient. 

“I think we just went up about four ranks in security clearance,” Tim told her, his throat dry. “These are the detailed plans for the liberation of France.”

When Mr. Grey returned to the room an hour later, he found them bent over the papers, memorizing as many details as they could. 

“Any questions?” he asked. 

“One,” Tim said. “What happened to the liaisons before us?” 

Mr. Grey shook his head. “We don’t know. They disappeared.” 

“Presumed dead, Sir?” 

“I’m afraid so. Will that be a problem?” 

Tim shook his head. Steph probably saw it as an extra challenge, in fact. As for him, well. Other, better people had died for this war. After what he had seen in Eastern Europe, Tim would be honored to be counted among them. 

Besides, ‘killed by mysterious sea creature’ sounded kind of neat. 

“Excellent, excellent. We have set up a meeting for you.” 

Tim nodded. He expected something like that. “When and where?” 

“In this room, and in,” Mr. Grey checked his pocket watch, “twenty minutes.” 

Well, then. 

Honestly, it was the woman that caught his eyes first. Her hair was a shocking red and spilled over the back of her chair, and her eyes… Tim had problems looking away from them. They were huge and glowing, the most fascinating thing in any room. 

A predator’s eyes, Tim thought, tearing his gaze away. 

Her companion, a broad-shouldered man with short black hair, had similar eyes, only his were more teal than pure blue. This time, Tim managed to limit his staring time to the amount that was hopefully considered normal upon meeting another species for the first time. 

(To his satisfaction, a glance confirmed that Steph looked just as gobsmacked as he felt.) 

“Good evening,” Tim said a tad awkwardly when it became apparent that someone had to break the silence. Better he than Steph, if the expression on her face was anything to go by. “This is Stephanie Brown, and I am Tim Drake. Thank you for coming.” 

“I’m Barbara,” the woman said, her voice melodic like a long-forgotten lullaby. “And this is Jason.” No last name or military ranks, Tim noted.

They didn’t offer hands for him to shake, so Tim didn’t, either. “Shall we?” he gestured at the table. 

Only now did he note that they were both in wheelchairs, seemingly rolling the contraptions along with ease. A quick glance confirmed that they had legs, unlike the pictures, so it couldn’t be that. Maybe that was just an illusion, to fit in better? There had been nothing about that in the files, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. 

Thank providence they had left set the chairs around the tables in a way that made it seem like they had prepared for the eventuality of wheelchairs. Tim chided himself for the lack of foresight. 

“We do not usually cooperate with humans,” Barbara told them frankly once Steph and Tim had settled in. “Under the circumstances, however, we decided we could no longer remain neutral.” Her companion nodded.

“Do the Germans have allies like you?” Tim asked. 

There was a distinct expression of distaste on Jason’s face. “Allies, no. Slaves, yes.” 

“Not just slaves,” Barbara added. “Some believe in the cause or their country.” 

“They did the same thing to ours as they did to the humans: Designated some groups as superior and conscripted them, while the others…” Jason trailed off. 

“We have been extracting as many of ours as possible.” 

“So we have to assume there will be mers on the German’s side,” Tim stated. Hopefully, the intelligence operation would draw the underwater troops far away. Considering the travel speed DMLOO had estimated for them, however, that would not be enough. 

“Would you prefer we don’t kill any of them, even if they attack us?” Steph asked, the challenge evident in her voice. 

But Barbara’s answer was cool: “No. This regime must be stopped. If they are in the way of that, they must be dealt with.” 

Maybe he’d have protested at the beginning of this war, Tim thought, before he’d seen what he’d seen. Now he nodded. “What is your proposal?” 

“You tell us.” Jason’s voice was scornful.

Tim chose to ignore the challenge. “Jason, Barbara. We have only learned of your existence a mere,” he glanced at the clock, “ninety minutes ago. We could not presume to have anything near a clear picture of your capabilities.” 

“How about we tell you what the brass is planning—which, by the way, we were also only informed of ninety minutes ago—” Steph gave her best roguish grin, the one that had charmed more than one person into confiding into her, “and you tell us what you need to really fuck some shit up for the Jerries?” 

Tim approved. The shift into confidentiality—look, we’re a small part of a vast whole, but we’re trying our best, please trust us to do right by you, and don’t you want to see something burn, too?—was what Steph did best. By the time she was through with people, they wanted to wreak destruction with her. Tim just had to point them into the right direction and cover up their tracks after. 

And it was working this time, too. Barbara’s eyes were softening. “We can do that.” 

It took hours, but by midnight, they had a plan. 

“Would you like assistance? A car, perhaps?” Tim inquired when they finally got up. He tried to stress the ‘like,’ not wanting to imply that creatures that could kill him with ease would _need_ his assistance in any way. 

“No,” Jason said. “We will meet you at the harbor on the morning of the exercise.” He did no how he and his would travel to Devon, and Tim thought it wiser not to ask.

“We will be looking forward to it.” 

For a second, there was silence, and once again Tim desperately wished that they had been given any pointers at all about mer culture. What if they were committing a cardinal sin or accidentally declaring war because they didn’t know the proper send-off? 

The mers gripped their wheels, and then they were gone and Stephanie was rolling her eyes at him. 

Before she could comment on his awkwardness, though, the door opened and Mr. Grey strolled in, looking fresh and prim despite the late hour. Tim was under no illusions about privacy—every word of theirs had been listened to. Indeed, Mr. Grey beamed at them. 

“Well, I thought that went well, don’t you?” 

“They did agree on coordinating our plans and supporting our troops at the landing,” Tim agreed cautiously. “A lot will depend on the exercise.” 

“Excellent, excellent. I knew I made a good choice. Mr. Drake, Miss Brown, welcome to DMLOO.” 

After a rather hectic five days, Steph and Tim finally stood on the docks, comparing plans one last time. 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you paired yourself with Barbara,” Tim told her when they were done. 

Steph grinned at him, something wicked in the corner of her mouth. “I am merely leaving the tall, dark man to you.” 

Spending days hiding in a cramped cellar really left you with no secrets from your partner, Tim reflected ruefully. She wouldn’t have made that comment where anyone could hear it, he knew, so he didn’t feel bad riposting: “Ah, yes, because dealing with the tall, gorgeous redhead is such a hardship.” 

“Funny how we assume that they’re tall,” Steph muses, not looking hard done by at all. “We only saw them sitting down.” 

“I think we can safely assume they’re both taller than you. Who isn’t?” 

“Tim. Tim, my darling, my love, my light. That would be hurtful if you weren’t shorter than me.” 

“Oh, save your sweet words for the red-haired sea goddess. You’re going to need them.” 

Steph sniffed. “No one appreciates me. If we die today, you’ll be sorry.”

“Shush.” Some things it was better not to talk about. DMLOO had not been involved in yesterday’s incident, and officially, there had only been minor casualties. Never mind that Tim had spent most of the night dreaming about mass graves…

It certainly made their farewell a bit more serious than it would have been, otherwise. This was just an exercise, after all. They had weathered worse things. 

Tim boarded one of the tank landing ships. His role would be to use the little outpost the navy had created from the bridge to communicate with Jason, evaluate the part the mer’s troops would play in the landing. 

Steph, over on LST-496, would be in a similar position, he knew. They had talked this through over and over again; unlike their previous work, there was no room for improvisation here.

Watching everyone get into position, he thought that there was something wrong; he just couldn’t put his fingers on it. There was no way they would have repeated yesterday’s mistake, was there? Yet, he was uneasy. 

Turning back to the mer, he was met with a gaze that was still startling in its intensity. Tim tried to give Jason a smile. “

Jason looked skeptic, but granted: “It certainly seems big enough… if the Germans leave their flank open.” 

“If intelligence does their job, and it will, they should be expecting us everywhere but there.” 

“You put a lot of stock in your service.” 

Tim shrugged. “Wars are won on information as much as on sheer power.” 

“Spoken by someone who has never had that power.” 

That stung. “Not everyone can be born a predator of the seas.” 

Jason looked away, swimming in silence alongside the ship as they approached Lyme Bay. 

Then, something exploded. 

Later, Tim would learn that a group of German E-boats had picked up on the radio chatter the previous evening and had decided to investigate. Right now, all he knew was that they were under fire when they shouldn’t have been, that the battle sirens were going off, and that it suddenly, terribly, smelled of smoke. 

Jason had briefly gone underwater when the shelling hit; as he surfaced, he yelled: “What’s happening?” 

“We’re under attack!” 

Another mer popped up beside Jason. Tim watched as they seemed to communicate with gestures. There were screams all around them. This was his task, though, and he would do it. When everything went to hell, a soldier did what he was supposed to do. 

“Germans,” Jason finally told him. “Nine boats.” 

“Where’s the Scimitar?” Tim called out. The British ship was supposed to keep them safe from the rear. 

Jason looked at him impatiently. “Withdrew hours ago. Didn’t you know?” 

There weren’t enough swearwords in the world, so Tim didn’t bother. 

Then he made the only decision he could. 

“Hold back your troops.” 

Jason stared up at him. “They could help.” 

“They’re already leaving, and we cannot stop them,” Tim said, every word hurting. “If you reveal yourselves now, they will now. And then…” 

“…many more will die,” Jason continued for him. His tone was matter-of-fact enough that Tim knew that Jason had made his decision before Tim had opened his mouth.

Maybe Jason was just glad he hadn’t been the one to say it. 

The mer left, presumably to share Jason’s instructions with the others. There was nothing to say, so Tim and Jason didn’t. From their vantage point, they had a horrifyingly close view of the fate of LST-531. 

Tim estimated it took it less than seven minutes to sink. There were too few lifeboats, and the water was cold. It was only April. More than a few minutes in those temperatures would mean a death sentence. 

The mer from before came back, giving one gesture and Jason nodded sharply. “They’ve gone far enough. We’ll help your men.” 

“Please,” Tim told him. 

He watched as Jason disappeared, then went inside. Nothing left to do for him out here. Time to make himself useful. 

If you asked him later, Tim wouldn’t be able to tell you how the day passed. According to the records, there were debriefings, limited as they were, where his only contribution was to mention the observation from the mers that they needed to improve life vest training. He knew he was reunited with Steph at some point, pale but unharmed, and declined her offer to spend the night. 

Better to walk along the shore, tonight. Somewhere, there would be a peace of this beautiful Devon coastline that was unspoiled, and he needed to find it. 

When he did, Tim wasn’t surprised to see Jason. It seemed to him that he’d known where Jason would be before he even set out to find this beach. 

The mer was just sitting there in the shallows, looking like something a nightmare had birthed. Tim let himself plop down on the sand a few feet away from him without much ceremony, ignoring the water that soaked his uniform. Maybe, if he was lucky, the tide would come to take him away, too. 

“Aren’t you going to get drunk like everyone else?” Jason asked.

Tim shook his head. “No.” He needed to let himself feel this. “Are you?” 

“Can’t.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah. Shittiest thing about becoming a mer, I can tell you. Drugs don’t work either. I’d kill for a cigarette.” 

This was the first time he saw Jason from up close in his natural form, Tim realized. He was even bigger than he’d thought—his tail alone was at least as long as Tim was tall. No wonder Jason preferred to use the wheelchair; legs suddenly seemed far too frail and puny to replace something so powerful. 

The mer’s eyes glowed even in the dark; the moonlight reflected off his scales in a way that reminded Tim of blue diamonds. If I were a fish, Tim thought, I’d swim towards him. 

What an absurd thought. 

“Spit it out,” Jason said. 

Tim glanced over at him. “What?” 

“Your face is screaming questions. Nice work being tactful, but spit it out before you bite your tongue off.” 

Despite his words, Jason didn’t look at ease. Tim decided to go with one of the less prying questions. “What’s the collective noun for your folk?” 

That surprised Jason, Tim could tell. He was starting to figure out at that most of the mer’s expressions lay in their eyes. It made sense when he thought about it—the ocean was dark, and they didn’t seem to produce any light of their own except for their eyes. Using them as the primary communication tool seemed indicated, though the question remained whether the contractions of the pupil were conscious or unconscious. 

“We’re mers,” Jason said slowly, eying him sideways. “I thought we covered that extensively?” 

Tim shook his head. “You spoke about ‘of ours’ and ‘groups.’ I frankly cannot see how the Germans would get their hands on enough of you. Their u-boats aren’t _that_ good. So there must be others.” 

That elicited amusement. “That’s just it, actually. We are Other.”

“How terribly imaginative.” 

“Yes, well.” 

“Can you tell me more about the others?” 

Jason turned to look at him fully. “You sure you want to know about them?” he asked. 

Tim nodded. 

Still, Jason warned him: “It’s not easy to go back, once you know. You’ll always wonder what’s waiting in the shadows for you.” 

“If I am very unlucky, it will be another human,” Tim said quietly. 

Jason considered that. 

“Our closest cousins on these shores are the selkies,” he finally said. “Have you heard the tales?” 

“Some. Women falling in love, having their pelts stolen.” 

Jason smirked. “That’s how they’d like it to be.”

“Oh?” 

“Selkies are one of the most dangerous creatures to you humans. Sirens work with what you want, what you desire. Selkies _make_ you want them. They find a human, and they use them to have their young. After that…” 

“So there are selkie men, too?” 

“They are whatever they need to be to procreate. Your notions of gender and sex don’t apply to everyone, you know.” 

Did they apply to Jason? Tim wondered. Out loud, he asked: “So what about the pelts?” 

“Tell me, Tim.” Jason’s eyes seemed to grow brighter. Tim couldn’t look away. “Would you fear something that you hold in your power?” 

“Yes. But you’re saying it’s a… trap?” 

“Exactly.” Jason’s tail twitched, splashing water around them, before settling down again. 

“But they leave the humans alive?” 

“Some of them. Enough that the tales get passed on, and the next prey won’t be scared of anything but heartbreak.”

Jason kept talking, about selkies, then river spirits, then others, tale after tale after tale; and Tim listened, only asking questions to keep Jason going. Time moved around them without ever touching. 

At some point, Jason’s tail flicked and came to rest right next to Tim’s legs. Tim, engrossed in the story about vampires that walked during the day and nymphs that drifted through the night, touched the glittering scales without noticing. Jason paused, however, and Tim, alerted to what he was doing, withdrew his hand hastily. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” Jason said. His voice was a bit rough. Tim had no idea what it meant, only that he suddenly understood siren song. 

“Tell me more?” he asked. 

Jason threw a glance at the stars as if they told him the time the same way a clock did for Tim. “Shouldn’t you sleep?” 

“I won’t.” 

Jason’s bright eyes considered him for another moment. Then he sighed. “As I was saying, you should listen to the tales. Have you heard of the Lorelei?” 

“No,” Tim said, grateful. “Who are they?” 

“Not ‘they,” Jason corrected him. “She, and it. First, there was a river…” His tail inched closer until it was pressed against Tim’s legs. The scales felt colder than the water around them, but Tim leaned into them, nonetheless.

Morning would come soon enough. 


	2. Berlin, 1945

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A second meeting exposes new players in a new world.

Berlin, unsurprisingly, was not Tim’s favorite city in the world. Or, well, what was left of Berlin. When the euphoria of winning this theatre of the war faded, all that was left was more work with people Tim liked even less than his previous partners. 

Steph was sent to go undercover in the Soviet zone right away. Tim couldn’t go with her—a man of his age would have immediately been arrested and questioned about his connections to the NSDAP. So here he was, walking through what had once been a main street and was now under the administration of the Allied military. 

Something about an invalid that was just rounding a corner in front of him set off his senses. He was important, his brain said. _Follow that man. _

Tim knew better than to follow it right away. It was difficult to switch off his wartime instincts. Even knowing that these people did not pose a threat anymore, Tim was always on alert. 

(And did they really not? How many of those ‘civilians’ had only called lip-service to their old regime to survive, and how many of them had been fervent believers? Tim suspected there were more members of the latter group than anyone was willing to acknowledge right now. He had yet to hear a single word of regret.) 

Still, Tim was about to disregard the man as yet another shady character haunting these streets when something about that limp clicked. 

“—Jason?” 

The man turned around, and Tim saw that he had been right. It had been almost a year since they had last seen each other on June 1, 1944. 

Tim hadn’t even known if he had survived the Normandy beaches. He had thought so—had dreamt of mer swimming between the landing points, tearing out the throats of any opposing soldier he met on the way—but it was good to see him standing there, as unharmed as a man on crutches could look. 

“Tim.” Those teal eyes were wide. “I did not expect to see you here.” 

“Let us walk,” Tim said, subtly directing Jason toward one of the less frequented side streets. “Then we can catch up.” 

Jason nodded and followed him. His pace was slow, but Tim did not mind. It would make it much less suspicious if they lingered, and there were enough injured men around these days that they would not stand out. 

When they were alone, the other mustered him with blatant distaste. “You look like a German.”

“I’m with the document division,” Tim told him. “There is some… concern, if you like, that some of the fine folk who say they were in the resistance might be tempted to make certain uncomfortable files disappear.” 

Jason caught on immediately. “So you invite them to confide in you while weeding out the documents referring to magic? That’s good.” 

“Thank you. I do try. How about you?” 

“I try all the time.” 

Tim rolled his eyes. “You know what I meant. And where’s your chair?” 

“Even more difficult to get around in with all that rubble.” Jason grimaced. “Not to mention the cobblestones.” 

“I assumed your legs just didn’t work,” Tim admitted. That much seemed safe to say out loud.

“No, they do, just not well. It takes a lot of practice to walk, and it’s always uncomfortable.” 

“What brings you to Berlin, anyway? Last I heard you were further west.” 

Holland. That was where Tim had lost track of Jason and his pod. Their joint mission had been over long before that, but—well. Tim liked to stay informed. 

“I heard that an old” —Jason paused just long enough to indicate that the next word shouldn’t be taken seriously— “friend of mine has shown up in Berlin.” 

“Oh? Did you manage to meet up?” 

“Sadly, no. Turns out there was a mix-up. However, there certainly seem to be opportunities in this city.” 

“I have noticed that, too. What kind of ventures are you thinking about?” 

“There is a lot of art on sale these days.” 

There was, but somehow Tim didn’t think Jason was talking about the paintings the Nazis had seized from their victims. Their magical equivalent, then? 

“A man can make his fortune with the right contacts, here,” he suggested carefully. “Us government types, we don’t always hear everything.”

“I will let you know _if_ there’s an auction coming up.” Jason winked. 

“Thanks.” Tim hadn’t heard anything about this, which suggested that Jason was not cooperating with Tim’s superiors anymore.

They had reached a crossing, the street becoming busy once more, so they stopped. 

“Nice running into you like this. We should meet up again,” Jason suggested casually. “I heard they are loosening restrictions at the Herzdame club.” 

“Sounds like a capital evening,” Tim replied in his very best British voice, then dropped it. “When would be convenient for you?” 

“Around seven, maybe. Time enough for dinner and a show.” 

Tim faintly worried that this conversation was going to give anyone listening ammunition, just not the kind related to what was actually happening. To cover, he grinned and said: “Oh, I sure hope it’s a show. Too many men around here, if you understand.” 

“Right.” Jason seemed discomfited for a brief second, no doubt irritated by Tim’s sudden bout of laddishness. 

Looking at him, bathed in sunlight, Tim felt like something was snapping into place. A pull, a plucking of strings; a voice telling him _that one_. 

The silence had gone on too long. 

“It’s good to see you on the other side of this war,” Tim finally offered. 

“It’s not over. It never is.” Jason paused. Smiled. “But yes. You, too.”

“Information received by a source indicates that there might be a black market sale soon. I will have to check out the place, I suppose.” Tim was trying to sound as bored as possible. This was just a routine briefing, nothing special to talk about here, officer. 

Mr. Grey looked up sharply. “What kind of source?” 

“Someone I worked with on a previous mission.” Tim chose his words carefully. “I would like to keep their identity confidential for now, as they would be easily compromised.” 

“As long as it’s not one of the mers. Untrustworthy fellows, those.”

Well, that about told Tim everything he needed to know about Jason’s relationship to DMLOO. 

Luckily, Mr. Grey moved right on. “And you don’t have more important things to be investigating than a rumor?” 

“Not at the moment, no.” 

“It will likely come to nothing,” Mr. Grey grumbled. 

“Still, sir, I would like your permission to do a perimeter check.” 

“If you must.” His superior sounded exasperated, and Tim knew better than to push. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

The Herzdame club was exactly as Tim expected; which was to say, not great. There was beer, there was decent food—neither of which was readily available in the corner stores—and girls were dancing in what might charitably be called ‘underclothes.’ 

They kept smiling at Jason. No doubt more attracted by his potential American passport than his looks, Tim thought rather unkindly. 

“You have arranged for our entry into tonight’s special event?” he asked a bit abruptly when yet another blonde woman asked Jason if he fancied a turn around the dance floor. 

“Of course.” Jason took out a rather peculiar looking wallet—small, pouch-like, made out of blue leather that didn’t look like any leather Tim had ever seen—and flashed it to the waiter. “Die Rechnung, bitte.” 

The waiter obediently put the bill down in front of Tim (which, solid—did Jason even have human money?), but turned his head over to Jason and murmured: “Die Hauptveranstaltung beginnt in wenigen Minuten. Wenn Sie so gut wären und sich in Richtung des roten Vorhangs begeben würden…” 

As he paid, Tim saw several guests make their way toward the red curtain in the back already. When they walked toward it themselves, he told Jason in a low voice: “There are Englishmen here.” 

Jason caught on immediately. “You think members of the Allied administrations are participating in the auction.” 

Tim took his arm, ostensibly under the guise of helping him up the stairs to the auction room. In actuality, he was directing Jason’s gaze to his left. “Two people are speaking French over there. And I’m sure I’ve seen the man in the grey coat before.” An image rose of that precise man walking in the corridors of DMLOO. “He’s American.” 

“Is that how you people treat your enemies? Join them if there is money to be made?” 

Tim wished he had a better answer than: “Not all of us.” 

Jason scoffed. Tim was probably only spared a biting comment because they had reached the next level of security.

The doorman smiled at them and didn’t ask for their names. “Gentlemen, your masks.” 

“Thank you.” Tim grabbed two red ones and handed one to Jason. Bright colors always worked to distract from your actual features. 

The room they entered was much bigger than Tim had expected. Just how big was this place? It had looked like a typical Berlin building surrounding a small courtyard from the outside, but there was clearly more to it. 

At the front of the room was a small stage, lit up in lights. As Tim and Jason joined the small crowd, a tall, thin man in an honest-to-God tuxedo stepped onto it. His voice wasn’t loud, exactly, and he didn’t shout; yet it carried into the farthest corner.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! We have gathered here today because there are objects of priceless—priceless!—value that have recently become… shall we say, available again?” 

The crowd laughed. 

The whole production was rather too theatrical for Tim’s taste. All that was missing was a hare being pulled from a top hat. 

“Three objects—ring, staff, and crown—for those who wish to control magic.” 

The crowd ‘oooh’-ed, and Tim with them, but he caught Jason frowning. 

“The auction for those three items will not commence tonight, I am afraid. You will have three days to prepare your bid.” 

Tim was forcibly transported back to the dime novels he read obsessively as a child. Three days to retrieve the treasure/stop the weapon/rescue the hostage. Surely not? 

As if he’d read his thoughts, the speaker continued: “Now, you might ask—but dear sir, are you not taking a risk, announcing the presence of these objects for three whole days?” The announcer’s voice changed to an uncanny impression of a southern English accent. For the first time, Tim noticed that he was speaking English. 

Shit. 

_Definitely_ citizens of the Allied countries here, then. 

“Rest assured, our objects are safe in our vault, guarded by dragon magic.” A smile. “I’d invite anyone to try their luck with _that_. So, gentlemen, prepare your bid in the usual way, and I will see you in three days.” 

The lights turned on again, and the crowd was left to whisper among themselves. 

When he was sure to be unobserved, Tim turned so his face was hidden by Jason’s bulk. With practiced movements, he pinched his cheeks and rubbed his eyes, just enough to be red and slightly teary in those parts his mask didn’t hide. 

All the hallmarks of a drunk. 

Thus camouflaged, he swayed and threw an unsteady arm around Jason’s shoulder. Or, well, middle back, really. That man was too tall. 

(He remembered Steph calling Jason “tall, dark and handsome” and missed her something fierce.) 

“Tell me what worries you?” he whispered. 

“No-one can control magic.” 

“Says the mer. Surely there must be _someone_._” _

“No, Tim, we _are_ magic.” Jason looked amused. “Did you think there were witches and wizards?” 

“Yes!” It still didn’t seem like an unreasonable supposition to Tim. 

“There are some creatures that possess a limited measure of magic,” Jason conceded, “and there are those who can lay curses and who can break it. But that’s more tweaking what is already there.” 

“Like plucking or twisting strands instead of weaving new ones.”

Jason threw him a strange look. “Yes. Exactly.” 

“So you think it’s fake, then.” 

“That’s the trouble. I don’t think so.” 

Tim frowned. “Those objects are dangerous, then—a weapon?” 

“Potentially bigger than anything your government is coming up with.” 

Tim thought of the reports from Japan. “I doubt that, but bad enough. So we should stop them from falling into the wrong hands.”

“Meaning _any hands_.” 

“Yes.” 

“I got the lay of the land. We can break in later.” 

“Or we could slip through the door behind that mural over there and see if that leads us to the vault.” 

Jason threw a glance over his shoulder, his pupils widening beyond what surprise would do to a human one. “How did you notice that?”

Tim shrugged. What could he say? He’d always noticed stuff, and his training over the last four years had only made him more perceptive. “So? You coming?” 

“After you.” 

At first, they stayed silent on their walk. As the noise of the hall slipped away, however, with no guards anywhere in sight and seemingly endless stone-walled corridors stretching out in front of them, Tim broke the silence. 

“You got any idea how we will break the vault door when we find it?” 

“It _will_ open.” Jason gestured down to his legs. “Even dragon magic is not invulnerable. Just don’t try to answer any riddles. That’s the mistake most people make.” 

Tim remembered that tail. It held considerable strength, yes, possibly enough to render steel asunder, but—“How long does the transformation back take?” 

“Longer on land than in water.” 

Tim was going to smack him, mer or not. “Which means what in human time measurement?” 

Jason frowned. “A few minutes. Maybe more. But—”

“Then we will need to find another way. They will catch us.” 

“You could go ahead and—” 

“_No_.” Tim had _enough_ of self-sacrifice. These were _objects_. Kon had at least sacrificed himself for people, and Tim still—“No. The magic will hold against you. There will be another way.” 

The conviction in his voice surprised them both. 

If Jason noticed his miniature freak-out, he was kind enough not to mention it, saying instead: “Well, we have to _find it_ first. Any smart ideas about that?” 

Grateful, Tim shrugged. “If in doubt, go left.” 

Within minutes, however, Tim knew that they had miscalculated, and badly. They might well be making their way toward the vault, but it was taking too long. Just how big could this cellar be? 

To make things worse, he thought he could hear something. 

There. That sound again. Steps, and dimmed voices. “—wir vermuten Diebe.” 

“Goddammit,” Tim swore, recognizing the German word for ‘thieves.’ “Jason, they’re looking for us.” 

Jason bared his teeth. His many, many teeth. “Let them find us.” 

It was an impressive display, but: “We’re on land and I am unarmed, so unless you happen to be bulletproof and didn’t tell me, _run_.” 

Except Jason couldn’t, Tim quickly realized. He cursed himself for not thinking of this earlier. Jason had _told_ him his legs didn’t work as well, that it was difficult to coordinate with crutches and these foreign limbs, why hadn’t he listened—

Self-recrimination later. 

Jason was way too heavy for Tim to carry, but he could help. After a split second’s consideration, he ducked under Jason’s arm, gripping his waist with one hand and hissing, “Let me,” when Jason faltered. 

Jason hissed back, a much more menacing sound than Tim could’ve ever hoped to produce, but he let Tim take some of his weight. They hobbled along much more quickly after that. 

An old, wooden door caught Tim’s eye. “Cellar.” 

“Aren’t we supposed to go up?” Jason grumbled, but he didn’t resist. 

There was a bang behind them, followed by voices. “Ich bin mir sicher, dass sie hier rein sind.” 

Tim winced. “Yeah, I think it’s too late for that. Besides, there might be water.” 

“Water.” 

“Shhh.” The footsteps were coming closer. Tim opened the door as quietly as possible, and they eased through. Jason had to crouch down because of the low ceiling, but there were more stairs. Covered in dust, Tim noted in dismay. There would be no hiding they had passed through, once the guards thought to look. 

Jason’s face was a blank mask of pain when they made it to the bottom—until he smelled it. “Water.” 

“The river,” Tim realized. “They must have a secret dock.” That made sense. Easier to smuggle in wares—and people—that way.

“You,” Jason told him, awed, “are better than a compass.” 

“Thanks?” Tim was distracted. The guards were at the door, and there was still no real way out. They would spot Tim right away if he tried to hide in there, but Jason might be able to dive down deep enough that he would survive. 

“Go,” Tim hissed, already pushing Jason toward the water. “I’ll hide somewhere else!” Not that he could see any possible spot. 

A cold hand clamped around his wrist. “Come.” And then Tim was yanked into the cold, cold water. 

The shock and the sudden darkness around him were enough to cover up the other sensation, but after a few seconds, Tim noticed there were lips pressed against his own, insistent, pushing. 

When Tim opened his eyes (so that was where the darkness had come from), Jason’s own were staring at him, looking luminous and vast from this close. His hand yanked on Tim’s wrist again, an unmistakable command, and Tim opened his mouth before he understood why. 

Jason breathed air into his lungs, and then he let go. 

Tim stared at him, floating in the dark water. It was disorientating. There was no way of telling where was up and where was down. For all he knew, he was lying on his back, floating in the water like a corpse. 

Which reminded him. Shouldn’t he be drowning right about now? Instead, he was breathing, or something quite like it; his lungs weren’t protesting, his heart rate was calm, and he wasn’t inhaling water, but there was something weird happening around his neck, like the center of his inhalations had shifted—

And then Tim understood. 

It hadn’t been a kiss at all. Jason had given him a gift. 

Tim signed ‘Thank you.’

Jason shook his head and motioned down. ‘Hide.’ 

Right. Armed guards. Tim followed Jason down, confident that they wouldn’t find them in the water, wouldn’t even think to look, and he was right. 

It was dark down here. Even with the admittedly handy ability to breathe underwater, Tim still couldn’t see. He had no choice but to follow the glow of Jason’s eyes, trusting him to lead them right. 

Some innate body instinct warned him he was about to swim right into a metal foundation. He halted, trying to figure out where to move instead when Jason grabbed him and pulled him close again. 

Aerodynamics. Right. Tim linked his arms around the mer’s waist, and Jason’s powerful tail propelled them through the water like they weighed nothing. 

He must’ve been used to ocean currents, Tim thought distractedly, feeling the muscles of Jason’s back contract under his hands. No wonder he was impatient with Tim’s blind swimming strokes. 

After what seemed like a long time, Jasons stopped and righted them upwards (Tim presumed—he’d lost his sense of orientation some time ago). He lifted a hand in front of his eyes and made a wavy motion with his fingers. After a moment, Tim got it, mouthing: ‘Grass?’ Jason nodded. 

Good. They were outside, possibly even out of the city. 

Tim, telling himself he needed to learn more signs as soon as possible, made a motion with both hands that he hoped conveyed ‘careful.’ 

He was pretty sure Jason just snorted at that. Not a great motion underwater. 

They swam up slowly, carefully. Tim was confident that they had lost any human pursuers, but who knew what kind of tracking skill the Others possessed. Besides, it would only take some bad luck to come up next to a group of soldiers. 

Jason broke the surface of the water first, taking advantage of his night vision to scan their surroundings. After a tense minute, his hand came down and gave a thumbs up. 

Tim came up beside him. Breathing air again felt wrong for one long, terrible second. Then his body arranged himself. 

He climbed up the riverbank and sat down at its edge, shivering. He was soaking wet and freezing. The cold wind didn’t help. 

Jason looked up at him, still submerged from the shoulders down. “Well, that went to shit quickly.” 

“Yeah. We could still try to intercept the auction.” 

Jason looked skeptical. “_Try_, maybe. We would need significant back-up or explosives, and I don’t trust the latter around that sort of magical object.” 

Good point. “It would help to at least know who to track.” 

“Maybe.” 

“I’ll find out what I can,” Tim offered. “Like I said, I recognized some of them. Shouldn’t be hard to put a name on them and their associates.” 

“Then I’ll see about that back-up, get in touch Barbara and some other folks who will be very interested in joining the hunt.” 

“Is there a way I can contact you?” 

Jason’s pupils were wide as he considered the questions, then contracted again. “We have addresses in most ports. Contacts that gather mail for us and pass it on when we drop by.” 

He listed them and Tim nodded. “Thank you.” 

“I don’t need to remind you that this information is confidential.” 

“What isn’t?” Tim tried to grin through his chattering teeth. 

“Go warm up,” Jason told him. “I’ll meet you in three days at the same corner.” 

Tim watched him vanish into the waters and tried not to think of the long walk back. 

The first thing Tim did when he reached the small DMLOO outpost near the Zentralflughafen was to visit the intelligence archive. It took him over a day and more than one trunk call across the Atlantic, but finally, he owned enough copies of pictures showing three-quarters of the attendees of the pre-auction. On the back, he penciled their names and positions. One set of images he put into a brown envelope. 

Then he walked into this bosses’ office and laid it on his desk. 

Mr. Grey leaned back in his chair and studied Tim. “Now, what is this?” 

“Regarding the intelligence I received three days ago, sir, I have identified several individuals who have participated in an attempt to buy contraband. There are several eyewitnesses, including me.” 

Silence. Not feeling very encouraged and missing Steph once again, Tim plowed on: “I would like to interview these individuals—”

“No. I’m afraid this investigation is over for you.” Without looking at it, Mr. Grey slipped the envelope into a compartment under his desk. Tim knew those pictures wouldn’t see the light of day again for many months, if not years. 

He suppressed a sigh. “What do you wish for me to do, then?” 

“We will be giving you compassionate leave.” 

Tim frowned. Of all the unsubtle things— “On what grounds? That you would like me to be compassionate with you and leave it alone?” 

“No. Your parents died three weeks ago.” 

The color drained from Tim’s face. “What?” 

“We just received the news this morning. A robbery, or so I understand. Terribly sorry, my boy.” 

His parents. It had been months since Tim had thought of them, to be honest. His was not a family to send encouraging notes across an ocean. And now they were dead? 

“I understand that you are required to keep your family’s companies running, so I have decided to grant the request. After all, Drake Industries is a major contributor to our munitions effort.” 

Some part of Tim wondered how long Mr. Grey would have waited to tell him, what decision he would’ve made, if Tim hadn’t made a pest of himself about the auction. The bigger part of him was just numb. “Thank you, sir.” 

“There is an army flight to London in,” Mr. Grey ostensibly checked his pocket watch, “three hours. I would advise you to be on it so you can wrap up your affairs in London and take the next ship back.” 

For a long second, Tim considered defecting right here. Jason had said to meet him in three days; Tim did not like to think of him standing on that street corner, waiting.

Then he dismissed the thought. Jason had more powerful allies, ones that were better suited to the task, unburdened by a secret agency shadowing their every step, as DMLOO was sure to do to Tim. 

Tim was just a human, after all. 

When Tim returned to his apartment in London, he did nothing for three days but prepare for his impending departure. Then, one day, while ostensibly buying souvenirs at Harrods to bring back to the US, he ‘accidentally’ caused a stir and lost his shadow long enough to slip an envelope into the nearby postbox, five minutes before it would be emptied. 

If the government wasn’t going to do anything with those photographs, Barbara and Jason would. 

**Author's Note:**

> Google Exercise Tiger or Slapton Sands if you haven’t heard of it. It’s quite something. No one communicated. The coastal batteries who knew about the boats were ordered to hold fire in order to not disclose their locations, which is where that part came from.


End file.
